


Safe

by Adadzio



Series: Smut [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Book 5: A Dance with Dragons, Comfort Sex, F/M, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 06:36:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9110935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adadzio/pseuds/Adadzio
Summary: A palm connected squarely with his jaw. “Fuck!” He rubbed at the soreness, glowering all the while. “What in seven hells was that for?”Melisandre’s brows knitted together. “I told you it was going to hurt.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Was originally posted in my NSFW drabble series but it's long enough to deserve its own fic!
> 
>  **Prompts** : “I’m going to make it hurt.” / “you belong to me”

“I’m going to make it hurt,” she warned. 

Stannis stared up at her with a dry look. For this he was rewarded with a palm connecting squarely with his jaw. “Fuck!” He rubbed at the soreness, glowering all the while. “What in seven hells was that for?”

Melisandre’s brows knitted together, and for a brief moment the array of candles in her Castle Black bedchamber seemed to dim. “I told you it was going to hurt.”

“I didn’t know you were going to clobber me like a tavern brawler!”

She shifted back in his lap, sighing just loud enough that he caught it. “What did you expect when I suggested this? That I’d spank you like a naughty boy?”

“That’s more your fantasy,” he pointed out, amusement tugging at his lips.

Her cheeks flushed, memories of such past escapades flashing through her mind. “Where do you want me to hit you?”

“Nowhere,” the king said flatly. “I conceded so you’d stop your nagging.”

“Very well.” She slid off him, scarlet figure swift as the breeze.

A moment passed in silence. He glanced over his priestess with incredulous eyes. “That’s it? You’re not going to sweet-talk, or tie me down?”

Melisandre laid back, settling her red gaze on the fire. “I thought I would enjoy it more than I did,” she admitted.

“What now, then?”

“I’d rather— “ She shrugged, clutching her red robe tighter around her. There was an unreadable expression in her eyes. “You should return to your own chambers, my king, if it please you.”

This was deeply offending. “Are you so bored of me?”

“I need to read the flames.”

“Don’t play secrets with me,” Stannis snapped. “You were going to say something.”

Another long moment dragged between them, and finally she ventured forth. “I was only saying I prefer…when you have control. It is almost as if—I feel—safer…” She shook her head at the fire, blinking furiously. “Never mind it.”

The king had little idea how to respond, utterly bewildered. “I should hope you feel entirely safe.” The words came out far harsher than he expected, and he saw Melisandre’s hands tense within the folds of her silk robe. “You are safe with me,” he continued, trying to make his voice gentle. He did not exactly know how to sound gentle. “Don’t you…know that?”

Again he saw those white fists twitch, as if preparing for battle. “I know that R’hllor protects me.” 

He sighed. “I’m not stupid, Melisandre. Yet I’ve acted so in the past.”

“No. You’ve done no wrong, my king.”

“I have,” he insisted. “I once threatened to kill you by inches, as if you should bear the guilt of mine own choices.”

“That was long ago.”

“So was the life you knew before, and still you’re wary of that,” he retorted. There was no time for her to react as the words slipped recklessly from his mouth. “I’ll always treat you with respect, do you understand? You’ve known horrors, ones you’ll never admit, but I wish to be a reprieve from all that. Reprieve from your cruel lover of a god, who continues to demand pain and sacrifice from you.”

Abruptly his priestess lifted herself from where she lay. “Do not speak ill of R’hllor,” she said coldly. Her back was a red line, rigid as wood, as if she were ready to shoot up and away. “And don’t speak of things you don’t know.”

"Woman— " There was always the instinct for anger in his veins, the infamous Baratheon temper ready to burst forth at any moment. Such a rejection was ample motivation. And Stannis wanted to be angry, gods knew, but he felt only sadness now. Were he a truly religious man, he might believe they shared a soul, for somehow he understood the silent anguish in her. “Melisandre,” he said simply. She did not respond, though he saw willful tears escape her red eyes. He sighed again. “Do you still want me to leave?”

“No,” she said stubbornly.

The king sat up just a fraction, exasperated. “What then? Shall I kiss you? Or let you slap me again? Mayhaps you’ll sneak a kick in this time.”

“Put more wood on the fire. Just—don’t talk, please.”

He wanted to retort that she might call for a servant instead, that the fire was plenty warm and bright already, that she might be satisfied with the hundred candles dripping wax upon the weathered stones. But he did not, only rose and stoked the fire to a blazing dance. From there he returned to bed, settling on his side.

A heavy silence hung in the air. _Was she still crying?_   Stannis did not know, and selfishly hoped sleep would overcome him before he found out.

"I do not want you to leave." It was merely a whisper, but it seemed to echo about the room as loudly as a scream.

"So you said."

"I mean, when you go south…" He saw the flash of a pale hand wiping at her cheek. 

_Oh._ Before he could begin bickering any number of ways about his upcoming campaign, a howl of wind swallowed his voice up, and the room was silent once more.

“Can you try—holding me down?” The words were so quiet he thought he might have imagined them.

Stannis squinted through the candlelight. “Holding you?”

“Down. Please.”

He shifted and loomed over her, feeling rather absurd, though he’d done the same many times before. “Like this?”

“Yes, and pin my hands down.”

Stannis reluctantly acquiesced, trapping one delicate wrist against the furs of her bed, high above her scattered copper hair. “Am I to hover atop you all night?”

“Preferably inside me,” she clarified.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat awkwardly, blue gaze falling southward. “I’m not—“

Her free hand immediately set to work, slipping into his breeches to fist him up and down. After a few seconds she lifted her eyebrows. “I think he’s already sleeping.”

Stannis batted her fingers away, unlacing himself with red ears and a forceful scowl. “Give it a damn moment, woman.”

And the moment it was ready, he drove into her. She cried out and tensed around him, eyes pained. “Sorry,” he muttered. Coaxing her other hand beside her head, he repeated the movement of his hips, this time far more gentle. “Is this better?”

“Mmm,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut, and that was answer enough.

Securing his grip upon her hands, Stannis began a firm rhythm. She only had time to clutch at his hands before the thrusts made her breathless, the steady slide of his cock building inside her. Her ankles locked behind his back, her slick, fevered body clenching around his thick length. “Harder,” she breathed, face buried to the side. “Please— ”

The king scraped clumsy teeth down the pale curve of her neck. “Let me take care of you,” he soothed, setting the harsh pace that would hopefully satisfy her darker needs. _Act like you know what you're doing, damn fool._ “I—Trust me.”

Soon enough her entire body was trembling, fingers intertwined and clenching as climax rippled through her. “Oh, my king…” 

“ _Yes…_ You belong to me, and so long as you do, I will give you what you need.” He did not know what he was saying, he was simply groaning things and pushing into her with no finesse, spurred on by her body tightening around his.

It wasn’t long before Stannis stilled above her, sharp hips rocking imperceptibly as he spilled inside her. While the world was still a haze, he grasped her jaw and wrenched a careless kiss from her. His fingers slipped down to where they remained joined. "One more. Can you do that?”

“One more?” she repeated, just as dazed as he.

Two inelegant fingers circled her, and Melisandre shuddered, sensitive and overstimulated. She watched his hand between her white thighs, chest heaving and hips rolling to meet each caress of fingers. After a while she began writhing against his hand, wanting more, needing more.

“Are you going to come again for me?” 

Impatient, she clutched at his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Her copper head fell back against the pillow as she bucked up against his fingers.

“That’s it,” the king praised. “Don’t think, just come for me.” Toes curling against the furs, she finally broke, spine arched and voice a lovely wail. He held her close as she recovered, and all the while flames burned bright and strong next to her bed.

“My priestess,” he murmured after a moment. “How do you feel?”

“I…” Her red gaze was sleepy and content, a smile tugging at her lips. “Safe, my king.”


End file.
